


Sometimes Dead Isn't Better

by SherlockDreadsNaught



Category: Jimlock - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Consulting Criminal, Jim Moriarty - Freeform, M/M, consulting detective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockDreadsNaught/pseuds/SherlockDreadsNaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock died--took  bullet in the lower chest, probably nicked his vena cava--but the thought of John being alone and in dangersparked his return. The problem is, he didn't come back alone! Something came with him!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes Dead Isn't Better

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is an inference to a line from a Stephen King novel.

"So there you have it, John."  Sherlock Holmes lifted his gaze from the laptop screen to the face of his friend and colleague, John Watson, who was seating beside him.  There was a stiff silence, during which Sherlock tried to read the expressions on John's face.  He saw anger, sadness, more anger, defeat, weariness, and even more anger.  "John," Sherlock said softly, "I truly am sorry. I don't know what to say."  With that, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his long-fingered hands so they touched his lips, still looking at his flatmate.

"You knew."

"I...suspected.  I deduced a few things."

John nodded sharply, his lips drawn into a tight grimace. "You deduced. A few things. You said nothing."

"I am truly sorry, John, but some of this information actually helps..."

John cut him off abruptly with an uplifted hand, his face by now unreadable.  "I'm going out." With that he bolted from his chair, grabbed his jacket, and was out of the flat with a loud slam of the door.

"Well, that went splashingly awful, don't you think?"  A slightly sing-song voice came from behind the long drapes to Sherlock's left. "I mean, really, that was awful, Sherlock."  A figure in a beautifully tailored royal blue suit stepped out, one hand fingering the material of the floor-length drapes. "These are nice. I should tell Mrs. Hudson I appreciate her fine taste in interior decorating."

Sherlock stood to face the speaker, pushing in his chair and buttoning his suitcoat in one well-practiced move.  "You heard us then.  That was all right up your alley, wasn't it?"

"Heard you, read it, helped write it in fact. Oh that Mary, yes, that's my girl!!" A wolfish grin was cast in Sherlock's direction. " I don't know John Watson all that well, I mean other than to know he's your little pet, but I think...yes, I just think that right now he is PRETTY upset with you."

Cocking his head and regarding the words, Sherlock scowled.  "Upset with me.  Why would he be upset with me? He understood why we needed to look at the jump drive."

"But. You. Didn't. Tell. Him!"  The words were spit out accusingly, the figure's face right up next to Sherlock's face.

"And what was I tell him? I did not know the contents of the jump drive Mary gave him until this morning, when we both looked at it.  I warned him he might not like what we saw, but that was purely based on observing her when she gave it to us." Sherlock kept his voice level, not taking the bait for even one instant.

"But you didn't inform him of your DEDUCTIONS, you know, the ones you made the first time you met the lovely and charming Mary Morstan?  Yeah, slight oversight there, Sherlock."  The figure moved away and began running s finger along various surfaces--a book shelf, the mantle, the edge of the mirror, a lampshade.  "Hmmm, fancy that. Mrs. Hudson keeps saying she's not your housekeeper, but she does seem to do a great job of cleaning this dull little flat of yours.  You know, the nice little flat in central London that you'd had your eye on and that YOU convinced John Watson to move into with you.  I should commend her on her housekeeping skills"

"Do you have a point to make?"

"Do I ever need to have a point to make, SHER-lock?"

"No, I'd say you just enjoy hearing your own voice."  Sherlock turned back to the laptop, released the jump drive, and tucked it into his pocket.

"Well," the figure regarded Sherlock's words for a moment. "Yes, yes I guess I do, don't I?  Imagine that! OH! Was that one of your brilliant deductions??"  Mockingly, the figure steepled his own hands under his chin and then flashed a big grin.  "Wow, amazing, I just deduced that myself!"

"As I was saying," Sherlock let out an almost imperceptible sigh, "Do you actually have some point you are trying to make?"

"Actually yes, I believe I do!"  He stepped right in front of the consulting detective and jutted his jaw out as he spoke, taking on an air of total defiance. "YOU like John Watson. Oh come on now, stop even trying to deny it, everyone knows it, everyone sees it. Yeah, nice little act at their wedding, best man and all, and solving a murder to save John's former commander, but underneath it all, Sherlock," the voice got slightly sing-song again, "You know as well as I do that you would have stopped that wedding if you could have.  And maybe you could have if you had told John your deductions about Mary."

"He never would have listened to me.  He would have brushed them aside saying I was..."  Sherlock's voice trailed off.

"Saying you were what?  JEALOUS?"

"...wrong, he would have said that I was wrong..."

"But you didn't want to risk it, did you, way too risky to let John know his intended was a LIAR the very night you barged back into his cozy little world of coping.  Coping, remember, coping with your suicide that you made sure to act out right in front of him, coping with life without YOU. Moving on. Yes, moving on WITHOUT you!  Getting on with his life, oh hell, finally leading the life he'd always wanted--domestic bliss, a nice flat, someone to share his life with.  Oh yes, he would have said you were jealous!"  The words stopped and figure shook his head, eyeing Sherlock up and down.

"Don't be ridiculous! Jealous?  He would never think that of me."  Sherlock eyed him right back, a petulant look on his handsome face.

"Oh come off it, will you?"  A hand reached out and brushed a piece of lint off of Sherlock's lapel. "Just get over yourself already. Puh-leeze! I know you, Sherlock, I know you better than you know you! Oh boy, do I ever! Remember, I've spent time in your dungeon, Sherlock, I know what sordid, angsty little shreds of yourself you keep there."  He moved around Sherlock, giving his coat a few little tugs here, brushing off imaginary lint there.  "Yes sir, my dear consulting detective, I know your angsty, lip-biting, emo secrets."

"You know nothing about me.  What you think you know about me is most likely your own inner thoughts. You're not going to put me off that easily!"

"Oh no, I'm not trying to put YOU off, my dear. No, I do however think it's time that Dr. John Watson...John Hamish Watson...finds out the truth about his asexual, not my area to quote a phrase flatmate.  You want him, Sherlock, you and I both know you do.  Thought you could cure yourself of that by being 'dead' for 2 years, but it didn't work, did it? Blew up in your face, didn't it, Sherlock?  You came back to him the night he got engaged, and that HURTS!!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"OH! Oh I just had a thought...a marvelous thought indeed.  I did burn the heart out of you after all, didn't I? You had to jump to your death, and in front of John no less, so he'd think you were dead and gone forever!  Gone forever, so he decided to move on without you! Oh gawd, was that ever easy!! Boring!!!"  With a huff the figure plopped into Sherlock's old green chair.

Sherlock regarded him coolly for a few moments, that turned on heel and headed to the door of the flat, grabbing his Belstaff Milford and his scarf.  "You did not burn the heart out of me. Remember, I've been informed I don't have one."

"Time will tell, Sherlock, time will tell."

"The reason I did not tell John my deductions about Mary was that I felt I needed to observe her.  Don't think I haven't caught on about her last name.  What is on the jump drive comes not as a surprise, but for me, further underscores the fact that she needs to be watched.  Yes, she lied to John, about everything apparently including the fact that the child she carries is not his.  Right now he has alot of conflicting emotions and I will not add to his burden. However, I can help alleviate one issue he is currently facing. The fact that she is already married to David makes her marriage to John illegal, therefore an anullment can be awarded with little argument in any court in the land."

"You have yourself convinced that you did the right thing, not telling John. You do realize he has alot of anger AT YOU, my dear Sherlock.  Your suicide in front of him...wow, did that bring his PTSD roaring back!  Your abandoning him for two years, with no explanation..."

"He said he wanted to know WHY I did it, not HOW."  Sherlock angrily yanked on his leather gloves, preparing to leave. "So I told him what he needed to know, that he wasn't safe."

"Does he need to know the truth though? Does he want to know the truth?  I mean, I happen to think he DESERVES to know the truth."  The figure was right beside Sherlock again, whispering into his ear. "Hell, you couldn't even just open your trap and tell him his own missus was the one who shot you! You had to be all cloak and dagger about it!!

"I plan to tell him....everything...soon.  He deserves that much, I know he does. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to join him at Regent's Park."  With that Sherlock opened the door and stepped out, but before he closed it he leaned back in and said, "And by the way, leave Mrs. Hudson alone!!"

 

 

 


	2. Sometimes Though Dead is Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Today is a good day to die." Opening line from the movie Flatliners. Sherlock had never intended to flatline, but then, he hadn't awoken that morning thinking it was a good day to get shot by his best friend's wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hear James Moriarty's lines in my head. Not sure what that says about me, but who knew that HE would be my Muse? Once again i used the wonderful episode transcripts of Ariane DeVere, specifically this one for this chapter:  
> http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/67635.html

The first thing Sherlock could remember after being shot in the lower chest was stabbing white light.  The second thing he could remember was the hushed yet excited voices of the doctors and nurses in the operating room.  He had gone into asystole, meaning he had no heartbeat, and they had worked on him for several hours, trying to coax his heart back into activity.  Nothing made much sense to him, but then the main thing his brain was registering was a searing heat somewhere under his ribcage, and all he really wanted to do was curl up in the fetal position and cry until the pain stopped.  Someone was speaking to him, the words seemed to stop somewhere in his middle ear.  Vaguely he became aware of being cold, but being unable to shiver.  The next level of awareness to enter his brain was the noise.  Operating rooms were not quiet places, and suddenly his ears were screaming that straight into the auditory region of his brain.  The wall of noise gradually filtered out into human voices and machines.  The human voices bore an urgency; orders were being given, numbers were being read off, more orders were being given.  The other sounds, the machines, were almost musical with all the bells and pings and beeps, some of them very close and some of them more distant. He was cold, he was in agony, his eyes hurt, and his brain for some reason seemed to be rattling around on its own, but something somewhere, inside some of those synapses was trying to make him remember something.  He had been sinking, spiraling downward, he pushed into...he couldn't remember what or where it was but he'd been someplace, and he had the feeling he had spoken to someone.  What else was there?  Just die why don't you, you're gonna love being dead, no one ever bothers you, one little push and off you pop, pain, heartbreak, loss, but you don't have to fear it.  John will cry, it's him that I worry about, that wife.  Crawling, grasping, clawing upwards and then all of this light, noise, and confusion.

Darkness, floating, warmth, and blessedly no pain.

"Oh wow, how do you rate?" There was a familiar voice, but it couldn't possibly be, because it was at his bedside, to his left.  "I mean, seriously? Sherlock, I am impressed. Must be nice having the morphine being pumped straight into your arm."

"What....who....how did you....get in here?"  Sherlock squinted at the figure standing half in the shadows.  He blearily glanced around and realized he was in a private hospital room, it was darkened, the door was half shut, and he wasn't alone.

"What? Oh this? Me, here with you, it just sort of...happened!"  The man leaned over the bed so Sherlock could see his face and part of his body.  He was sweaty, grimey, and his wide eyes were red-rimmed and almost glazed looking.  From his torso a straight jacket hung very loosely, only one strap still around him.  Under that was white tee shirt covered with sweat stains, dirt, and dried blood. 

"But...you can't be...I saw you..." Sherlock gasped at the pain of trying to breathe deeply enough to speak.

"Yeah, I know, pretty dramatic, wasn't it?  But honey, that dungeon of yours!"  James Moriarty slunk back into the shadow and dragged a chair closer to Sherlock's bedside.

"My...what?"

"Look, you have a mind palace. I mean of course YOU would have a mind palace.  Anyway, your neat little mind palace has a dungeon, alllllllll the way down in the very bottom layer.  And THAT is where you put me!"  The laughter was maniacal, loud and almost out of control.  "me...in the dungeon of your mind palace, imagine that!"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and tried to count to 100, but he was groggy and his mind wandered.  He gave up, opened his eyes and laid there staring at the ceiling.  Finally he whispered, "This isn't real...... it's obviously the morphine affecting me.... making me hallucinate..... both aurally and visually."  He drew a ragged deep breath.  "I just need to ....clear the anesthesia from my system.....that's all."

Beside him, Jim leaned over the bed railing and cackled with glee.  "Oh that is rich, Sherlock! You think I'm an hallucination. You think it's one drug or the other...or hey, maybe both combined in that wacked out, former addict system of yours.  Rich!"

"You cannot be real. I SAW you.....I saw you put a gun in your mouth..."

"Not real huh?  Oh Sherlock honey, you better believe I'm real. Real enough to cause you pain!" He spit out the last three words.  "Pain....lots and lots of pain!"  With that he turned to the morphine pump and twisted the dial down so that less and less of the painkiller was entering Sherlock's system.

Sherlock grimaced, more from trying to turn his head to see what was happening than from the lack of the drug in his system.  "That's not...oh," he winced.  "That is not going to bother me."  He tried to sit up, thought better of it, and instead lay as still as he could.  

That, of course, gave the chortling Jim another idea, and he reached across the prone detective to grab the controller for the bed.  Immediately he started poking the buttons, seeing which one made the head of the bed tilt up and down, and which one made the foot of the bed move.  "Now this is FUN!  Oh...oopsies!!"  One of Sherlock's monitors sounded an alarm and Jim slipped back into the shadow. A nurse bustled in, clucking at Sherlock, telling himto stop touching the dials and the buttons and did he need a drink or the urinal while she was there.  When Sherlock smiled wanely and declined, she tucked the blankets around him and just as briskly left the room.  "Whoa, she means business, you bad boy!  You know, Mycroft is slipping, slipping big time!"

Sherlock cast him a glance.  "What...do you mean?"

"Well, he did get you a kind of swanky private room but I'm so shocked he didn't hire a couple private duty nurses to tend to his baby brother.  After all, you are the great Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, although if you ask me it's more like insulting detective.  Get it?"  Gales of laughter rang out as Jim enjoyed his own joke.  Seeing Shrlock glaring up at him only made him laugh harder.  "How I wish you could see your face right now, Sherlock Holmes!"

"You blew your brains out...on top of St. Barts!" Sherlock spoke as loudly as he could, through gritted teeth.  "I saw you!"

"Mr. Holmes?" A nurse popped her head into the room.  "I was walking by and heard you. Do you need anything?  You really should try to rest."  She bustled in, adjusted his pillows, and poured him more water. "And do stop messing with the pump, please! You do need to keep the pain under control.  Maybe you were just dreaming?"  Before he could reply, she was out the door again.

"Yep, like I was saying," Jim plunked down in the chair again, "This just sort of happened.  When you suddenly started to pound on the floor and you got up, I was shocked. OK, OK, I may have had something to do with that, I did tell you that John was in danger...or did you tell yourself that?  It's all so confusing with that mind palace thing.  Anyway, you got up and headed for the door and I just....followed you out because I was so curious about what was going to happen next.  I guess it just wasn't your time!"

A light rap on the door interrupted whatever Sherlock was going to say. John popped his head in and smiled. "Hey, the nurses told me you were awake!" He stepped in and closed the door behind him, not noticing Sherlock's frantic expression.  "Well, the doctors are telling me you can expect a complete recovery, but you need to be in here for possibly a week.  You must have 9 lives, they're still not sure how you didn't manage to bleed out.  That bullet did some major damage, Sherlock."

"Oh do tell, Dr. Watson!" Jim sat back, arms crossed, watching intently.

Sherlock frowned, his eyes never leaving John's face. "John, I...don't you see?"

"Just rest, Sherlock, I'm not staying for a chat, I just needed to check up on you. It's probably an effort to talk right now, but you should be somewhat improved by tomorrow."  John smiled, looking relieved, but it turned to a frown when he saw the morphine pump. "Sherlock, stop messing with the dial.  You don't need to set it all the way down to 1. You can't get addicted using one of these. Controlling the pain will help you recover faster."  John set the dial to 3, patted Sherlock's hand and said good night, leaving the detective looking confused.

"Wow, fast visit! He didn't even mention the fact that the first thing you blurted out when you woke up was 'Mary'!  Look at you, all confused. Again!"  He clapped his hands with glee, a huge grin cracking across his face. "Oh, this is rich!"

"You were standing right there, right by the pump. Why didn't he say anything?"

"Hmmmmmm, yeah you're right, I need to explain something.  OK, actually,' he pointed at Sherlock as he spoke, "I need to explain two things. Remember this--I am real and I can cause you real pain," and he pretended to jab the bandages on Sherlock's upper abdomen. "And secondly...oh yeah what was it?  Oh. Silly me. Of course!  No one else can see me!"

 

 


	3. Better Late than Dead?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation is a two-way street, right?

"How do you always manage to find me when I come here?"  John scowled, but not convincingly when Sherlock sat down at the other end of the park bench.

"Just lucky I guess."  The slender detective shoved his gloved hands into his pockets and stared out over the pond.  "I know you find water calming.  I can tell when you 'have to go out' if you are upset or if you just need fresh air or just need to get away.  If you are upset you come here, always to this bench because it's on one of the lesser used paths, so you get peace, quiet and calm all at once."

John laughed sardonically.  "That isn't luck; you've followed me enough to have figured all of that out."

Sherlock shrugged, still not looking at John.  "I have followed you..."

"AHA!"

"...a few times, John, just a few times to test my hypothesis.  I'm not stalking you, you know."  

"I think it would be a little weird to stalk your own flatmate." John slid down the bench so he was closer to Sherlock.  "I uh....I really did need to get out of the flat this morning.  The documents on that jump drive made me more than a little upset.  She played me, she played me so well.  I feel like an idiot, I feel like she thinks I'm an idiot....and the worst part is, I fell for it!"

"Human error, John."  Still the detective stared out across the pond.

The briefest of scowls flickered across John's features, then he caught the meaning behind the words, and he signed.  "Yes, human error.  It was my mistake to fall in love with her, but it was her mistake to cross your path."

"Do you still love her, John?" Sherlock asked the question very casually.  "I mean, I understand sentiment, I think, and I know you did love her, but do you still?  After what you just found out?"

"Do you take me for that much of a fool?  She shot you, could have killed you.  OK, technically she DID kill you, although escaping from the hospital and galavanting all over London wasn't the smartest thing you've ever done. That could have killed you...would have, that is, if you hadn't had the presence of mind to call for an ambulance."  

"It needed to be done."  Sherlock tugged mindlessly at his leather gloves.

"Calling the ambulance? Yes, I totally agree! If you hadn't..."

"I meant getting out of the hospital and...catching Mary." He put a slight emphasis on the word catching.  "It had to be done in a timely manner, it just had to be.  I was uncertain what her next move would be."

John nodded, his eyes wandering to some small motorized toy boats that several boys were controlling and racing.  "Yeah, I just have no idea what MY next move is.  I guess I need a lawyer..."

"Mycroft has one..."

"Of course he does, but I can't afford any lawyer that he'd be retaining!"

"Won't have to worry, he'd be glad to assist you."

"Oh...umm, yes, well  then..." John paused.  "So she is married, the child isn't mine..."

"Annulment."

"What? Oh right, that's what we'd do.  But can she protest it?"

Sherlock stood and moved closer to John, sitting down nearer to him. "John, your marriage wasn't legal to begin with.  The jump drive has all we need to show any lawyer and any judge in the land."  Sherlock squinted almost imperceptibly and then blurted out "John, have you ever had a near-death experience?"

John blinked hard once, then twice, then looked at his flatmate.  "From annulments we jump to near-death experiences.  Connection?"

"None, just curious."

"You are never JUST curious.  Gathering information for a case?"  John smirked a bit at his own joke.

"Have you or have you not?"  

Something in Sherlock's tone made John look at him apprasingly.  "I have never been in asystole, as the proper term is--no heart beat.  Popular term is flatlined.  No, I never have but I've seen people who have.  Usually for no more than a minute or so."

"Have any of them ever told you anything about...experiences, about seeing things, hearing things."

"Why so curious, Sherlock?"  John was regarding him very carefully.  "Did you experience something?"

"I'm not sure," Sherlock spoke softly and sowly.  "I try to remember, but all I can remember is the operating room.  The light, the noise that turned into different sounds, the voices and then all of the activity,"  His mind was racing.  He'd been thinking that he needed to confide in John, to tell him what was going on, that he was seeing and talking to James Moriarty.  Yet as he thought about it, he realized how crazy it would sound, and feared John wouldn't understand, that John was liable to call him mentally unstable.  "The second time certainly wasn't very dramatic; it just seemed like I woke up back in the hospital."  He stood up to leave, pushing his gloved hands into his coat pockets.

John stood as well, stretching a bit, keeping his eyes on his tall friend.  "Sherlock, I do believe we almost have a philosophical discussion, you and I.  I am your doctor, so if anything is bothering you, you know you're welcome to talk to me."  He hustled to catch up to Sherlock, who had suddenly turned and was pacing away briskly.  "Sherlock, believe it or not, I can tell when something is bothering you, and right now I can tell..."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no, I can't talk to you, John.  You'd never understand.  You haven't been there."

"Been where, exactly?"  John was matching his pace, and was glancing at him curiously.

"There, John, you have never been There, on the other side. No heartbeat, John, you've never experienced what it's like There."  He stopped walking so abruptly that John actually took several paces and had to double back, so that they were facing each other.  Sherlock drew his big coat more closely to his slender body, feeling a deep shiver that seemed to start at his core.  "John, there's an old movie from 1990. It's called Flatliners, it's about medical students..."

"I know the one, I watched it once with some mates, we used to joke about it when we were in med school  Med students flirting with death, betting how long they could be under, be dead, and still come back."

"It's no joke, John. There is an Other Side, there is something There."  Sherlock broke his gaze away from John and hunched his shoulders slightly. "It's not like the movie, but there is something.  John, I don't know how long I was There, I mean really There. You said they worked on me for quite a long time."

"Well, yes, given your age and good health they wouldn't give up on you, I think it was two hours, they were getting desparate and finally had to agree to stop."

"Right, so when they stopped, John, I was There and I heard a voice and I saw someone, and he was telling me to die. He was telling me there was no pain, that people would leave me alone, that I would like being dead."  He glanced at John to gauge his reaction. John seemed to have stopped breathing so he'd be sure to catch every word. He was standing stalk still, his eyes riveted on Sherlock's face.  "It was a small room, it was like a cell, and it was...it was at the bottom of my mind palace. I was dead There, John, for the briefest time."

"Sherlock, it happens sometimes, the medical team will stop with the CPR but before they declare the time.....ummm the patient's heart re-starts itself because the blood actually comes back into it.  It starts beating spontaneously."  John spoke quietly, choosing his words carefully.  "The brain is still alive because of the CPR pushing blood to it.  Sherlock, are you asking if you are OK, or what exactly..."

Sherlock pursed his lips thoughtfully as he regarded John.  "I saw someone there....and he...somehow...I have no clue what this even means but he followed me out of that cell when I left it, when I came back to life. John....Moriarty is here. I have seen him and talked to him. He came back with me!"

 


	4. Dead Like Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John the doctor trying to evaluate Sherlock, the world's worst patient

"Cuppa?" John threw his jacket on the arm of the sofa, "and maybe some food--when was the last time you ate?"

"Tea would be wonderful. Food?" Sherlock frowned. "I admit I don't recall."

"I thought as much."  John set about getting the kettle going and heating some leftovers in the microwave, after, of course, checking it to make sure there were no exploded body parts hanging on the sides or the top of the interior.  "You know," his voice took on that stern I'm-your-physician tone, "Your body needs nourishment to heal, Sherlock.  In fact, you'd probably heal faster if you ate regular, small meals."

A lopsided grin twitched at Sherlock's lips a he leaned against the counter, watching his flatmate prep the cups for tea and that plates for food.  "Always the good, concerned doctor."

"With you, I have to be!"

"Am I such a difficult patient, Doctor Watson?"

"Hmmm...let me think...you escape from the hospital barely 24 hours after being shot at almost point-blank range, you run all over London, tear your stitches and almost bleed out. You rarely eat of your own vilition, in fact you just rarely eat at all.  Difficult? No. Obstinate, cantakerous, bull-headed, headstrong...shall I go on?"

"And those are just my good points!"  Sherlock winked as he accepted a plate of food and sat across from John at the kitchen table, nibbling while he watched his flatmate add pepper to the fried rice.  "Really, John?  I think you just insulted almost 1.4 billion people."

"Think they'd prefer something stronger on it?  Just eat what's in front of you, then I need to check your incision."

Before Sherlock could answer, Moriarty's form whisped into his view, dressed in a white v-neck tee shirt and blue jeans, the band of his underwear clearly in sight.  He waved jauntily at Sherlock, who had glanced over upon seeing the movement, rolled his eyes, and then concentrated laser-like on John.  Jim of course didn't take to being dismissed in such a manner, so he proceeded  to jump up and down, wave, and do a soft shoe dance nuimber all around the living room.

"Oh come on, Sherlock, it's me, Jim...Jim from the office?"  He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on his hips.  "I remember meeting you that day, you tried to call me gay. I guess the outfit worked, didn't it? Yeah, I thought the colorful pants were a real nice touch. And no, John Watson cannot hear me or see me.  Unless I want him to!"  He danced a few more steps, then stopped, looking serious. "Oh, what is that one line from Highlander?  It's better to burn out than to fade away. Yeah, I think that's it."

"So John..." Sherlock was careful to keep his expression neutral and to keep his eyes on his dining partner.  "I really am feeling better, and if Lestrade calls...."

"NO!"  John swallowed the food he was chewing and laid his fork down. "No, absolutely not.  You know what you were told when you got released from hospital this time, which if I might remind you was only a week ago. You are to rest for at least 4 weeks, only mild exercise, nothing more taxing than the stairs once, maybe twice a day.  You can't afford another set-back, Sherlock, so just let yourself heal!"

"That's right, Sherlock, the good doctor will scold you!"  Jim was by now perching precariously on the back of the 3rd kitchen chair, listening intently.

"Boring! John, I am getting bored!! And you know how I am when I get bored!"

"That's right, John.  Yoohoo, John!! Johnny boy!!" Jim was off the chair and dancing around behind John, leaning close to yell into his ear. "Sherlock is bored...in fact, Sherlock is boring!!"

"How can you be bored when Greg just dropped off ten files for you to go through. Don't tell me you've already gone through all ten and solved them!"

"All right, I won't tell you."  The lanky detective leaned back in his chair, a slight wince crossing his face as the different position made his wound twitch a bit.  "I told him to bring me some cold cases, and instead he brought me a bunch of story problems that a Boy Scout could solve to earn some...I don't know...campfire badge or something.  Nothing interesting, and nothing that took more than five minutes to solve, and that is being kind!"  His full bottom lip looked very much like it was in a full pout position by the time he finished his short rant.

"Haha! That's right, he won't tell you! He and I solved them together. Oh Sherlock, we will be just amaz-balls together, you and I, solving crimes.  If you get too bored, we could commit some crimes too."

John leaned in a bit, oblivious to the fact that Jim was leaning as well and was looking him right in the face as he jabbed the air with his fork.  "Sherlock, you agreed. You agreed to allow me to act as your attending doctor, that is the only way you got released as early as you did.  I can put your arse right back into the hospital if I have to, you heard Mycroft tell me that, and I will not hesitate to do so if you are going to endanger your recovery and your health."

"Ooooo, I think the good doctor is dead serious! Get it? Dead? Serious?" Jim was almost laying across the table, by now peering into Sherlock's face.

Sherlock drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Oh how hateful, my transport has betrayed me!"

"Yeah, well, bullets tend to do that to people!"  John's eyes were riveted on Sherlock's face, his expression quite no-nonsense.  "Now give your transport some nourishment or I'll make you one of those wretched supplement drinks!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, then dismissed the idea.  Fork in hand, he began to pick through the warmed up Chinese food in front of him, chewing slowly as he went.  When he was half done, he laid down his fork and looked askance, off to John's left, a movement that John noticed.  His curious look received only a small head shake from Sherlock. A couple more heartbeats of silence, then Sherlock said, "John, I think you should know, Moriarty is here. Now."

"Here now?"  John's eyes widened and he glanced around the kitchen.

"Yes, he's been...around us...since we sat down. You honestly don't see or hear anything out of the ordinary?"

Jim perched on the table by Sherlock's plate. "Come ON, Sherlock I TOLD you, no one can see me or hear me unless I want them to!"  

"OK, Sherlock, we need to talk." John stood and carried his plate to the sink to be washed.  "As your attending, I am concerned. I don't know if this is the result of oxygen deprivation or if the pain meds are giving you hallucinations, but I am concerned."

Sherlock leaped from his seat so fast he nearly knocked it over.  "You don't believe me."

"Oh, good deduction, Sherl!"  Jim was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, clapping his hands.  "Bravo, bravo, take a bow!"

"Have you listened to yourself?  Asking me if I've been to the other side, telling me something...came back with you. Jim Moriarty, Sherlock, for God's sake, in some dungeon in your MIND PALACE??" He threw the dishcloth into the sink as he spat out the last two words.

"I know, John, right? ME?? In the dungeon??"  Jim hopped off the table and stood beside John, mimicking his stance, even giving Sherlock the same surly look.

Sherlock glared back, silent for long moments, reeling in his temper and trying to calm his breathing. Gut instinct told him it wouldn't further his cause to throw one of his usual snits or to stomp out of the room or anything else he might normally do when trying to make a point.  When he finally spoke, he chose his words carefully. "John, I know how this must sound--no, really I do.  What....no, how...how can I make you believe what I am saying?"  He lifted his right hand and pointed to the space beside John.  "Moriarty is standing right beside you, in fact he is posing just like you right now. I swear on all I hold dear, I have seen him and spoken to him almost daily, sometimes several times a day, since I awoke in the hospital the first time."

John cast a glance to his right, looking at the apparently empty space beside him, then he looked back at his tall, pale friend.  He shook his head slowly, a very odd expression forming on his features.  "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I do not see anything, I do not hear anything, I do not feel anything.  I really am afraid you are suffering from...who knows, maybe a petit mal seisure or something when you experience what you are calling Moriarty."

"Am I not interacting with you, John?  Making eye contact, in full control of my body and my movements?"

"Oh gosh, I just love it when you two start talking all medical to each other!"  Jim was again clapping his hands with glee.  "This is so much better than those boring reality shows on the telly, even better than the daily soaps that Mrs. Hudson watches!"

"Yes, you seem to be fine, you are acting and responding appropriately."  John rubbed his hands over his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired, but still trying to squelch the rising concerns he had.  "OK so let's say for a minute that Jim Morarty..."

"Hello, here I am!" Jim danced in front of him.

"...or his spirit or SOMEthing attached itself to you when you flatlined.  Let's just say for a minute you DID see what you were calling The Other Side, maybe what people would call Heaven or...or...life after death."

"Oh gee, what should we call it, Sherlock, he doesn't want to call it your dungeon!" Jim whirled arund and grabbed at Sherlock's shirt sleeves.  The scariest part--Sherlock could feel him do it.

"Now let's just say for a minute that something else, that I of course cannot see, is in this room with us." John was by now waving his arms around as he spoke, gesturing quite closely to the not-so-empty space where Moriarty was standing. "How are you, Mister Scientific, going to prove to me or to anyone else, that he is here?"

Sherlock lifted his head then brought it down in one slow nod.  "Good question.  What I know for certain is that he has told me no one else can see him unless he chooses to let them see him.  I am aware of the so-called research in the paranormal field and I am aware that very few of the methods purported by any of the so-called experts have any actual scientific basis to them."

"Gawd, I love it when you get all serious, Sherlock!" Jim grinned apishly.

"And I agree with you on that; it's all show for the TV cameras."  John leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.  Sherlock couild tell he was carefully holding his face neutral while they talked.

"So, John, I feel that leaves us, leaves ME with one possible solution. I have to ask Moriarty to show himself to you, or at the very least do something for you to see or feel or hear."

The grin left Jim's face and he stared from Sherlock to John. "Really?  Really??  Why I'd be...I am so honored that you are actually ASKING me...:"  

"Of course," John's tone was like that of a parent talking to a child. "Yes, please do ask him."

Even Jim stopped what he was doing and stared at John, his jaw slowly dropping open and a look of dismay in his eyes.  "What is this, Sherlock? A crisis of faith? John...our little pet, John Watson...not believing YOU?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and shook his head, his gaze shifting from John to Jim and back again.  "You don't believe me. You think I am suffering from PTSD or a drug interaction of some sort."

John shrugged and spread his hands in supplication. "You have to admit, the story is a bit..."

"Wild? Hmmm? Is that the word, Johnny boy?"  Jim suddenly yelled in John's face.

Sherlock didn't notice any difference in Jim's appearance. He'd looked, and felt, solid from the first instant Sherlock saw him in the hospital.  However, from the way John reacted--almost falling backwards and letting out a small scream, he could tell that the consulting criminal had suddenly and dramatically decided to show himself to one more person.  Sherlock stepped forward to grab John's arm before he could topple over, because in trying to scramble back quickly from the startling appearance of the supposedly-deceased master ciminal, he'd actually tripped over his own feet.  John's eyes were saucer-like, and he was mouthing something silently while, at the same time, holding his breath.  He clutched at Sherlock's arm and suit jacket as he stared at Moriarty, who was looking triumphant that his shocking return had caused such a violent reaction.

"John?"  Sherlock was trying to pry John's fingers from his arm, because he was grabbing on quite painfully.

A gasp for air finally forced its way out of John's lungs. "Jesus, Sherlock!"

"Hello, John. John Watson. Dear, dear Dr. Watson."  Jim was fairly bouncing from his toes to his heels and back, arms spread wide as if to hug John.  "See? He wasn't lying; I did come back with him."

 

 

 


End file.
